Disillusionment
by KillingKathy
Summary: The impassioned grin that Toudou gave him almost made it all worth it in the end. Maybe their time together was a hallucination, after all.


There was something inexplicably beautiful about Toudou Jinpachi, glorious in idealistic hindsight and quixotic trajectory. He seemed to take his existence for granted; the world could not exist without him, nor his inscrutable notoriety.  
"_Who are you?_" Makishima had asked once; maybe that was why it had hit Toudou so hard, making him turn around to snap a indignant retort at the climber; this was the catalyst to their relationship, something Makishima had once considered an obsolete encumbrance.

He'd won their first race.

There was a ludicrous look on Toudou's face as the climber caught him after the race, face full of lethargic resignation and doubt.  
_"You won! You beat me! Goddamit, look a bit happier_!_" _  
There was a bitter lack of eloquence in his words, simple and condemning as he pointed a finger at Makishima, shaking with raw anger. Makishima had never been conventionally attractive, and this fact stood as he gave Toudou an awkward grin, heart sinking at the utter disgust on the other's face.  
_"You...just thought, 'how gross', didn't you_?_" _  
As expected, Toudou didn't give a reply.  
_"You just need practice. Keep your eyes like that, and smile." _  
The following attempt was even worse than the first. Makishima was always evasive with smiles, offering them when it seemed cordial (it usually had the opposite effect).  
But he was helpless against Toudou's pull; the climber had some truth for all his pompous declarations, after all. He was a soloist in his own world, impetuous and demeaning as he caught Makishima, over and over again, always with a slight grin that showed off his carless domination.  
_He wasn't the spider in his story_.  
There were erratic heartbeats in their races, the fast whisk of pedals against the asphalt as he chased after Toudou, heart in his mouth until it seemed as though the world itself could not contain his joyous soul.  
He was used to reproachful glances from people; it was something he was born with, something premeditated into his existence.  
Nefarious for his style and look, he tended to shy away from people, preferring to choose his companions. Toudou had shoved his way in, carving a path regardless of Makishima's protests.  
Nothing less than expected from the charisma of Hakone, after all.  
Toudou was sparingly negligent in races, preferring to channel all of his focus on Makishima, coldly ignoring all the other racers_-"You're the only one that can match me, Maki-chan." _  
He found that to be the bitter truth.  
No matter how much Toudou lamented for the flat tire on that day, it was obvious from his demeanor and poor concealment that he was ecstatic about settling the score at interhigh; face struggling to conceal a wide smile as he expressed his condolences for Makishima's tire after the race.  
It was still raining then, the sky muggy and a shade of not-quite-blue above them.  
Toudou adhered to textbook riding, each movement perfect and calculated. When he rode, he was perfect, not a single electron of energy wasted as he caught and surpassed people in his way, condemning them to loss.  
Makishima rode with reckless abandon, tipping his bike steeply from side to side, throwing his body in the other direction as though defying gravity itself. Head buzzing with vertigo, he paid no heed to the people he passed, careening left and right on the asphalt as he chased after the mountain god.  
The impassioned grin that Toudou gave him almost made it all worth it in the end.  
-

_Why do you even talk to me, _He'd asked Toudou once, almost regretting it when the climber turned around, fixing Makishima with those electric irises, eyelashes silver in the burning sun, because Toudou will never not make him catch his breath in a sudden feeling of weightlessness, never not make him feel like he has a place in his world.

_Because you're Maki-chan_, Toudou simply says, and that is enough.

-  
_"The Maki-chan that I know doesn't make excuses!" _Toudou had screamed, face twisting with desperation, eyes boring into Makishima's face until the other climber turned away, resignation in his chest as he pulled his helmet down, because it was hurting for him too-_he wanted to race, he wanted to race, he wanted to race Toudou one last time. _  
The wind picked up then, light and breathless as it soared above them, dancing, almost _mocking _Makishima as it threw Toudou's hair into disarray, haphazard eyes meeting Makishima's as he quickly turned away, catching his composure. Toudou was always the one for impassioned decelerations; Makishima was more of a withdrawn persona. Everything in the world seemed so utterly substantial in that moment; time reveled as the only thing that could not be taken back.  
Despite Toudou's furious gesticulations, _he could not move. _  
_I'm sorry. _  
_"Why? This can't be-I don't understand!" _Toudou looked at his hand, heart clenching as he realized that this, indeed, was not a hallucination.  
The lighting that day had been blinding, throwing Toudou's eyes into deep shadow as his crestfallen body bent over, putting his head on the handles, defeat reveling itself as he sunk into quiet pondering for a moment.  
_"Maki-chan, the conditions are optimum! Let's race!" _He had said, the faintest hint of hysterical slipping in his voice.  
_"Why can't it be, Maki-chan!_" He'd said again, the faintest hint of tears glinting in his eyes as he looked at Makishima pleadingly, desperation wild in his expression.  
Makishima teetered in his decision. He'd almost lost it-clicked his gears and leaned sideways-the expression of overwhelming happiness on Toudou's face apparent as he, too, sped up. But it was all lost when Makishima settled back in his seat, hating himself more than ever.  
Toudou's eyes were fixated on his figure, frozen on his bike in shock. Arakita had cursed, speeding up to catch pace with the climber, and had told him something-_Your job is to take the mountain tag! _Makishima had heard, sneaking a glance at Toudou's agitated expression.  
_You are being utterly ludicrous_, he'd thought. _Toudou, just go. _  
Finally, with a push, Toudou went, posture and expression seemingly indifferent until he rounded the next bend in the hill and they could hear him, hysterical, cursing Sohoku, cursing Maki-chan, screaming until his voice cracked and tears were apparent in his tone as he pounded the asphalt with impassioned anger.  
_"Sorry, Makishima." _Kinjou had said.

When Onoda had arrived, Makishima was almost dizzy from the wave of relief that swept him, legs trembling with release, _promise _as he chased after Toudou.

Each person was almost a blur of iridescent color as he passed them without thought, legs aching with the strain as he propelled himself up the mountain, almost inhuman in his determination to close the three-minute gap. When he heard the cries of the crowd from the distance, shouting Toudou's name, he'd knew that he'd won.  
_"Toudou!" _He'd called, triumphant, exaltation in his voice as he caught sight of the other climber.  
Toudou's face was a mixture of emotions-surprise, happiness, anger, happiness, happiness, _happiness_.  
_"Maki-chan!" _He'd called back, a ferocity in his tone as he saw him, eyes shining with a film of tears; nothing had seemed more beautiful in that moment.  
_"Maki-chan, Maki-chan, Maki-chan!" _  
_He was crying again, that idiot. _  
_-_  
Makishima hated to admit it, but Toudou's solicitousness was comforting.  
Family left for Europe, the echoing halls of his own home echoed every time he returned, alone and bereft of presence.  
Toudou's frivolity was safe, naïve and innocent as it echoed statically though his house; almost therapeutic as the lilt and fall of his soft voice asked Makishima how his day went.  
He'd looked out the window once, spotted a robin in a tree as it fluttered its wings, trembling with the effort. Toudou'd been talking about his fanclub then, so he had been daydreaming, not paying any heed to the boy as he focused on the robin.  
It'd fallen, fallen, and then _rose_, wings tangibly flapping the air as it tasted flight for the first time. Makishima caught his breath, lost in the simplistic beauty and silent eloquence of that moment.  
_"Are you even listening to me, Maki-chan?" _

_After the Race-Makishima _

Warped melodies spun around in Makishima's head as he lowered his head in resignation and defeat, tasting the humid air around him as leaned on his pedals, hair falling around him in iridescent, brilliant waves as he tasted loss for the eighth time. _But with this_, he chided himself, _at least we've reached a conclusion_  
Strangely, the world seemed even sharper around him than before, leaves with their serrated edges fluttering in rhythm with the wind; even his sight seemed to be washed with a striking turquoise-green as his heart pounded fiercely in his ears.  
He'd played his role, he'd done his part, riding for the team so that they wouldn't fall-there was some part in his chest that knew Onoda would come/putting faith in others was terrifying.  
Then he thought of their winding youth; it would all be over after this.  
_it was an honor to spend these years with you, Toudou._  
He looked sideways at the climber, silent and glorious in his newfound and eternal victory, closing his eyes as he screamed a soundless victory to the sky, fingers flared out in perfect proportion.  
_Victory would've been sweet_, he thought.  
But Toudou was more suited to victory and happiness; conventionally attractive and confident-the perfect set of personalities that Makishima was never born with. How else could Toudou make victory sound so sweet?  
An acerbic feeling settled in Makishima's mouth as he closed his eyes, feeling his eyelashes brush against his cheek.  
He'd never thought that this much disappointment would result from that seemingly insignificant promise, made in spontaneous decision and silver rain, one forever ago.  
Maybe they could race again. Maybe this time he would win, taste the sweet, glorious mountain air as he, too, soared in unbearable triumph.  
But the score was done, settled-_how ironic_, Makishima snickered. _that Toudou would turn out to be the mountain god, after all._  
All this time, it'd been part of his own disillusionment.  
He was helpless to change, lost in his own blindness, but if he could do this again-even if Onoda had made it in time, Makishima had no doubt that Toudou would win.  
"Maki-chan," Toudou breathes, and he finds himself looking up. "It's my victory just as much yours." He says again, vivid and substantial against the disrupted background of cheers and blurred forest, and Makishima can't help but crack a smile at the utter juxtaposition of the moment. _"I suppose."_ , he replies, amusement evident in his tone.

_After the Race-Toudou_  
Toudou was almost inebriation in happiness as he crossed the finish line, throwing his hands back in a _release_, opening his mouth and feeling the cold wind in his body, sweat and exhaustion plastering his soaking jacket to his body, a solid testimony to his hard work and turmoil.  
And he filled his breath with the isolated mountain wind around him and yelled a roar of triumph, because it was _over_, he had _won_; the icy breeze on his face whipping his hair into utter disarray, eyes squeezed shut against the tears that threatened to come, eyelashes fluttering haphazardly like that of a hummingbird. Isotonic celebration had never been his forte, and the jeweled forest around him rustled, as if quietly joining in on the moment. The sun was shining down brilliantly, light falling on his cheekbones and arms, the distant roar of people cheering another F.M away as he heard nothing else but the rasping pant of the climber behind him.  
Everything in his view was painfully iridescent, his thoughts a scattered diatribe in the wind and sky; it was over, it was over, _it was over._ Dappled light shaded everything in his path, angling the sharp hollows of Makishima's cheekbones and brilliant, brilliant eyes.  
He was beautiful in his precocious victory, drenched in the evidence of his hard work and utter discrepancy, disregarding the fixed laws of gravity as he flung his arms in the air with pure jubilation.  
But Makishima was breathtaking in loss and defeat, head bowed down to the earth, shadows, hair a grass curtain around his face, thin mouth quivering with all the tension of an indrawn bow, drenched in golden sunlight.  
"Maki-chan."  
The climber looks up.  
"It's not only my victory, it's yours." Toudou says, and finds that to be the truth.

* * *

And this, dear readers-is why you should not re-watch episodes of your OTP.

-K.K


End file.
